


Only in my nightmares, you toad.

by Nine_3quarters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (essentially), Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Bickering, Coffee, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Draco's a good dude!, Harry is a Little Shit, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Pre-Relationship, Sarcastic Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:23:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nine_3quarters/pseuds/Nine_3quarters
Summary: “Get out of my way, Potter.” Draco snarled under his breath.“Fuck you, Malfoy.” Potter whispered back.“Only in your dreams, Potter.” Draco grit his teeth, and elbowed Potter hard.“I think you mean nightmares, Malfoy.” Potter wheezed and stomped viciously on Draco’s foot.(This is a pre-relationship fic -- so it's predominately bickering)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 200





	1. Coffee Machine

“Get out of my way, _Potter.”_ Draco snarled under his breath.

“Fuck you, _Malfoy.”_ Potter whispered back.

“Only in your dreams, _Potter.”_ Draco grit his teeth, and elbowed Potter hard.

“I think you mean nightmares, _Malfoy.”_ Potter wheezed and stomped viciously on Draco’s foot.

 _"Ow!_ **You stupid bitch — these are custom made—”**

“Keep your voice down!” Potter hissed.

“You stupid bitch—” Draco whispered back, furious.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat.

Draco dearly hoped that is wasn’t Shacklebolt. And of course — because Draco had hoped for something with all his heart — it turned out to be Shacklebolt.

Draco bit back a swear. 

“Is there a reason you’ve both been hogging the coffee machine?”

Potter, the fucking toad, turned to Shacklebolt, “Malfoy cut in line.”

Draco gave Potter a look of pure disdain. “I did nothing so crass. I got here first.”

“You did not, you dirty liar!”

Draco turned to look at Shacklebolt — _look at what I’ve had to deal with every-single-fucking-day since you partnered us._

_Look at me and feel guilt, you worm._

Shacklebolt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Malfoy.”

“Yes, Minister?”

“Did you cut in line?”

“I most certainly did not.”

Shacklebolt sighed. “Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you overreacting?”

“Wha— No! _I’m_ the one who got here first—”

“I don’t care — both of you get out of my way.”

Potter shot Draco a dirty look — as if this whole ordeal was _Draco’s_ fault. Draco didn’t know how he’d managed to get through this past year without strangling Potter’s sanctimonious neck.

 _‘Ooooh look at me, I’m the Boy Who Couldn’t Fucking Stay Dead and I don’t know how to use my eyes and Ooooh look! There’s that death-eater scum, Malfoy! And he’s in front of me! Oh shucks, he_ must _have cut in line! There’s absolutely_ no _way_ _that’s he’s been there from the beginning! Oooooh let me shove him out of the way like the heathen that I am!’_

Draco made eye contact with Astoria — one of the only good things in this godforsaken place. She smiled at him and rolled her eyes: _Potter’s a Moron._

Draco smiled back: _Exactly, my dear._

And of course — because Draco was smiling innocently, and that _must_ mean he’s _up to something —_ Potter whirled back towards Draco. “Why’re you smiling?”

“I’m planning on murdering some puppies when I get home.”

“Listen here, _Malfoy—”_

And that’s when the coffee machine exploded — all over Shacklebolt’s newly bought dress-shirt.

Draco eyed the broken contraption — _about time, as well._ With the amount of raw magic circling around the Ministry, the Muggle device was bound to malfunction. Perhaps exploding was a rather exorbitant malfunction — but what did they expect, really. Muggle devices have never properly functioned amongst magic. 

(Something to do with how magic disrupts the electric field and prevents any delocalised excitation from occurring — thus preventing the flow of electrons — or what the Muggles like to call: _elecktricity.)_

(Or so Granger liked to drone.)

“Did you do that?” Potter demanded.

Draco sneered at him, “Yes. And I invented cancer as well.”

_“Malfoy.”_

“Keep your panties on, you twit. It wasn’t me,” Draco rolled his eyes.

And of course, that was the moment that Shacklebolt lost his fucking marbles.

_“Harry! Malfoy!”_

Draco exchanged a look with Astoria.

_“This is your fault!”_

Draco couldn’t believe this. “Um, no, actually, it isn’t—”

_“Shut up, you ninny!”_

_Well, then._ Draco rubbed his forehead and looked at Potter. _Do something, you useless bugger._

“Kingsley, it wasn’t—”

_“Shut up.”_

Potter — the most pathetic Gryffindor of them all — did, indeed, shut up. 

And that’s how Draco and Potter ended up in a Muggle coffee shop, buying coffee for their entire bloody department.

“You’re fucking useless, Potter.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not even to save my life.”

“Oh, fuck off!”


	2. New Years Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration, my fickle friend!
> 
> (Also — I'm very, very exhausted, so please forgive any grammatical errors)

New years eve: 11:55 pm; Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, London, England.

Potter fell back on his chair with a heavy thud, exhaling loudly. Then, for no other reason than because he was an absolute knob, he said “Malfoy, you fucking twat,”

Draco was much too exhausted to come up with an appropriate repartee. On principle, however, he shot Potter a scathing look.

Potter scowled back. _What a toad._

Head Auror Robards sighed heavily in the background, “will you two give it a rest? You’ve just uncovered an illegal cartel — an illegal _troll_ cartel — go out and celebrate, for fucks sake.”

“I’d rather die, I think,” Potter said, exhausted.

Draco sat down gingerly on his own chair, wincing slightly. Then, he glared at Potter.

“Potter.”

“What.”

“I broke a rib.”

“Tragic.”

“I broke a rib — covering for your sorry arse on the field,”

“Did I stutter, Malfoy,”

Draco leaned back in his chair, “Just thought I should give you a heads up — fair play and all that,” and before Potter had the time to fully form that confused, illiterate expression of his, Draco shot an instant scalping hex at him.

Draco watched with satisfaction as all of Potter’s fur-like hair — or perhaps hair-like fur was the more accurate description — fell off his body.

“I’m going to kill you, Malfoy,” Potter said — too exhausted to properly react to what Draco had just done.

Draco turned to Robards, “did you hear that? That was a confession — we can legally incarcerate him for attempted murder now,”

Robards rubbed his eyes, “have you forgotten this morning when you promised to, and I quote, ‘conduct an impromptu lobotomy’ on Potter using your self-inking quill,”

Draco massaged his aching shoulder. “Potter doesn’t possess any cognitive abilities anyhow, so the lobotomy wouldn’t have made much difference—”

Draco felt his toenails begin to grow rapidly. He grit his teeth and kicked off his boots — lest his growing nails ruin them.

“Hexing an unsuspecting opponent — what a spineless worm you are, Potter,” Draco sneered.

Potter cocked a non-existent eyebrow, “have you forgotten your Hogwarts days, Malfoy?”

“All I can remember from Hogwarts is your sanctimonious arse skipping through the hallway holding hands with Granger and Weasel,”

“All _I_ can remember from Hogwarts is you inflicting childhood trauma on everyone around you.”

“Oh I remember that too — I ate the ones who cried.”

“That explains the smell of your breath, then,”

Draco turned to Robards, “can we arrest him for looking like a turd?”

Robards looked up from his paper-work, “No, Malfoy,”

“Oh come on, his appearance is the definition of Public Indecency—”

“Robards.” Potter spoke up, suddenly.

“Yes, Potter.” Robards sighed.

“Can we arrest Malfoy for being an arsehole?”

Draco stared at Potter for a while. And then, he burst out laughing.

“Awwweeee, widdle Potty — did I huwt your feewings?”

“Robards.”

 _“What,_ Potter.”

“Can I kill Malfoy.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

Draco wiped his eyes, “I’m sorry for hurting your delicate maiden feelings Potter,”

“Shut the fuck up, Malfoy — no you’re not.” Potter rolled his eyes.

“No I’m not.” Draco agreed.

“Will the both of you _shut up,”_ Robards groaned.

And so they shut up. For approximately forty seconds. Then, Potter said: 

“You’re a fucking twat, Malfoy.”

Robards pinched the bridge of his nose. Draco gave him a look of pity — _I know, Potter’s an infuriating twit._

“No Potter — I’m _fucking_ twats — there’s a difference,” Draco drawled, “not that you’d know,”

“Congratulations Malfoy — you’re twelve years old,”

Draco refused to wince. “Not my best comeback, I’ll admit.”

“All your comebacks are shit,” Potter said, crossing his arms.

“Robards,”

_“What. What do you want, Malfoy.”_

“Who has better comebacks — Potter or I?”

Robards didn’t reply.

“Robards,” Potter said, surprised, “I didn’t know you practiced breathing exercises,”

_Merlin, what a fucking idiot._

And then, Robards opened his mouth, “Potter, Malfoy — as your boss, I command you to hug each other when the clock strikes midnight.”

“What have I ever done to you, Robards,” Draco asked, feeling extraordinarily betrayed. 

Potter spluttered like a buffoon.

“It’s a command.” Robards repeated.

And then, of course, the clock struck midnight.

Draco refused to move, but Potter, the _fucking idiot,_ got up from his chair.

“Don’t you dare, you insufferable pig—”

Potter glared at Draco and yanked him out of his chair.

“—there’s no way I’m hugging _you—”_

And then, Potter slapped Draco. Draco blinked, and after a moment, slapped him back.

And then, Potter enveloped Draco in a bone-crushing hug. Draco refused to wheeze and hugged Potter back with all his strength.

And that is the story of how Robards had to floo both Draco and Potter to St. Mungo’s for exacerbated internal bleeding. 

“Happy new year, Robards,”

“Happy new year, Potter,”

“Happy new year, Robards,”

“Yes, happy new year to you too, Malfoy,”

“Malfoy,”

“What, you toad,”

“I hope you have the fucking worst year of your fucking life,”

“Wow, you spiteful bitch — I, for one, hope you achieve all that you’ve ever wished for this year—”

“Huh?”

“—and then I hope you lose it all, in the most excruciating way possible,”

“Yeah, that makes more sense. Hey, Malfoy,”

“What.”

“Fuck you.”

“Only in your dreams.”

“I think you mean nightmares,”

Robards sighed in frustration. “You’ve both been assigned to weekend duty for the next six months as punishment, by the way,”

“Great — thanks for that, Potter,”

“Oh anytime, Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everybody!!!!


	3. Cinderella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wasn't expecting such a positive response to my fic — I really thought I'd get maybe a dozen kudos max, thank you all so much!
> 
> Also: I apologise for what I've written, because I just re-read it and it is most certainly absolute trash, but, well, I did try.

Draco snapped his eyes open — _son of a bitch._ It felt like he’d been hit in the head with a bludger. Wincing, he scanned his surroundings.

Potter was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’d finally died… How upsetting. (For him, that is.)

Perusing the strange forest he’d found himself in, Draco registered an unmistakable groan from above him. He sighed in dismay.

“Potter you cockroach, how utterly useless can you get? You can’t even _die_ properly,”

“Shut… _up,_ Malfoy,” [insert incoherent grumbling] “... how did we — wait!”

“Stop talking to yourself,” Draco muttered, pulling himself off the grass. It was then that he realised — with rather disconcerting apathy — that he was wearing a dress.

“What happened to that Faerie bastard?!” Potter yelled, jostling furiously in the tree that he’d found himself in.

“Well, seeing that you touched the one thing you _weren’t meant to fucking touch_ , and that we’ve both found ourselves in a forest, unarmed — I assume that he’s gotten away,” Draco snarled at an approaching deer, “or that he’s imprisoned us in some strange, convoluted way.”

“Shit,” Potter groaned. “Malfoy — _this is all your fault!”_

Draco rolled his eyes and kicked the jostling tree. Potter fell to the grassy floor with a loud thud. It was then that Draco noticed — with indescribable glee — that Potter was _also_ wearing a dress.

“Stop blaming me for something that’s unquestionably _your_ fault, Potter. If you’d bloody listened to what Robards was trying to tell you, instead of running forward like the ninny that you are—”

“I TOLD YOU TO COVER FOR ME—”

“Stop shouting, heathen—”

“—WHY CAN’T YOU JUST FUCKING _LISTEN TO WH—_ Merlin, is that a _dress?”_

Draco grit his teeth, “congratulations, Potter. You have eyes. Now, if you’d use them properly, you’d notice that you’re _also_ wearing a dress,”

Potter’s head snapped back to his body, “what the fu—”

And that’s when a gigantic grey carriage burst through an opening in the foliage. A pompous looking pig of a man jumped out and ran (or rather, waddled) towards Draco and Potter.

“Harry! Draco! Where’ve you both been?!” The man-pig looked Draco and Potter up and down, “the state of your _clothes!_ My word, get in the carriage right _now!”_

Draco looked at the talking man-pig coldly.

“Uncle _Vernon?!”_ Potter squeaked.

“You know this creature, Potter?” Draco asked, lowering his voice.

“He’s my uncle — he’s muggle…” Potter muttered back, “I’ve no idea why he’s dressed like that,”

“Of course you don’t — you’d need intellectual capacity in order to make conjectures, after all.”

“Says the man who tried to make a phone-call with a laptop.”

_“Listen—”_

“Draco? Harry?” A voice called.

Draco looked towards the carriage with growing trepidation. It was with surprising relief (good things _rarely_ happened to Draco Malfoy) that he noted the source of the voice to be Granger. If anyone could make sense of their situation, it was her.

“Hermione? What’re you doing here?” Potter asked. 

Granger lowered her head (Draco almost gaped in response — _Granger?! Lowering her head?!?!)_ “... Step-father asked for my help in looking for you two,” she briefly shot them a chastening look _(now_ that’s _more like it, Granger),_ “you’ve both been gone an awfully long time,”

An awful, awful lightbulb flashed in Draco’s brilliant mind.

 _Fuck._ Draco massaged his temples. He wished, briefly, that this was a nightmare. Then, he glanced surreptitiously at Potter. The Potter in Draco’s nightmares looked _far_ less foolish. (It was a recurring fear of Draco’s that one day Potter would grow a brain.)

And there was no way this was a dream — the Potter in Draco’s dreams looked _far_ uglier. (It was a childhood dream of Draco’s that one day Potter would grow into the toad that he so obviously was.)

Draco looked back at Granger’s strange appearance, and swallowed a frustrated snarl.

It was likely the rogue faerie that Potter and he had been chasing had trapped them in an alternate reality. One where Granger, apparently, did frightening things like lower her head of her own volition. And one where Potter and Draco, _apparently,_ routinely wore tacky vomit-coloured dresses.

The man-pig sneered at Granger, “get back in the carriage, Cindermione,”

A second awful, awful, lightbulb flashed in Draco’s brilliant mind. Draco felt wholly undeserving of what had befallen him. He exchanged a look with Potter.

“You too, Draco, Harry, dear,” said the man-pig, in a much kinder tone than what he’d used with Granger.

Potter (like a predictable fool) began to bristle indignantly.

Draco smiled politely, “sorry,” — _who is this man? —_ “Step-fath—” the man-pig frowned — “Vern—” Granger’s eyes widened — _Merlin’s balls —_ “Father.” Draco paused to swallow back the bile which had arisen upon calling this abhorrent creature his father.

Draco continued, “do you mind giving me and Pot— Harry a few minutes? I think I may have lost my… brooch,” 

“Your brooch!? The pearl one?!” Draco nodded solemnly, “go on, go on! Quickly, now,” 

With an obsequious smile on his face, Draco turned, pulling Potter to the side. Once out of direct view, he began whispering furiously, “I think the faerie trapped us in a twisted rendition of Cinderella—”

“I got that Malfoy — I’m not thick,”

“—in the arse. I have eyes Potter, I know.”

“Wha— **hey!”**

_“Shh!”_

“Sorry — hey!”

Man-Pig cleared his throat irritably in the background.

“I think we should go along with them — we might find a way to get ourselves out of this,”

“What about our wands?”

Draco smiled sweetly, “let’s just leave them here and fend for ourselves,”

“What the fuck are you on about Malfoy?”

“It was sarcasm you fucking idiot. I’ve told The Man-Pig,” Draco inclined his head towards Man-Pig, “that we’re looking for my brooch — use your raisin-sized brain and _Accio_ our wands when he’s out of sight,”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Potter muttered, for lack of anything better to say.

It took approximately two minutes (wherein Draco tripped over his dress twice, and Potter tripped over his dress eighteen times) for them to find their wands. Once adequately armed, they returned to the grey carriage.

“On second thought Father, I feel that I may have left my brooch at home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,”

“It was awfully expensive — if you’re too tired to look for it, Cindermione here—”

“No!” Potter started. Draco shot him a glare, “uh — no, F—Fat—Fath— Merlin above — _Father_. I need Hermione to help me with my, uh, dress?”

Draco felt an overwhelming desire to facepalm.

“Very well then, get in the carriage, both of you. What _have_ you done to your clothes!...” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Granger giving both Potter and him an odd look.

* * *

Draco realised, belatedly, that if Granger was Cinderella, He and Potter were both her ~~ugly~~ ~~beautiful~~ stepsisters — one of whom was heart-wrenchingly beautiful, and the other whom looked like a talking ball of hair. 

“Psst — Malfoy,”

“What, Potter.”

“We’re the ugly stepsisters,”

“No, Potter — I’m a beautiful stepsister. I’d say that you were the one with _personality,_ but that would be a lie.”

“Oh, because you’re so averse to lying.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“You’re an ugly stepsister, Malfoy.”

“No, Potter. Merlin, use your fucking eyes. Look at me.”

“You’re right, you’re not an ugly stepsister,” Draco narrowed his eyes, “you’re a _grotesque_ stepsister.”

“That was a big word, Potter. Hope it didn’t hurt your brain.”

“Thanks for the well-wishes, Malfoy — nothing hurts.”

“Yes, I forget — for it to hurt, you’d need a brain in the first place.”

A knock resounded on the door of their disgusting bedroom.

“Draco? Harry? It’s Cindermione — I’m here to help with Harry’s dress…”

“Come in, Hermione,” Potter called, sunshine and rainbows leaking out of his arsehole.

Granger entered the room with a suspicious look on her face. Draco walked behind her and slammed the door shut, casting a privacy charm and _Colloportus_ in quick succession. He was left with little patience after having to spend the day in a dress that was an assault on all five senses. 

_“Sorcery!”_ Granger whirled on the both of them. “Who are you?! What have you done with my step-sisters?!”

Potter turned to her, “we’ve done nothing, Hermione — I really am Harry, but, uh, it’s complicated,” Potter shot Draco a look.

So, of course, Draco was left with the duty of explaining all it was that required explaining. _Typical._

“Sit down, Gra—Hermione.” Granger looked at Draco suspiciously. “Fine then, stand. You’re not allowed to sit ever again.”

“Malfoy, just explain—”

“Shut up, Potter — okay, Hermione — Cindermione — whatever — we’re your step-sister counterparts from an alternate reality. Due to Pot—Harry here being his usual idiotic self, we were transported across the space-time-magic barrier to your reality. As you’ve already seen,” Draco rolled his wand along his fingers, “we’re wizards, but we’re not planning on world-domination or anything horrible,” Draco smirked, _“yet.”_

“Ignore him. We’re goo— _I’m_ a good person. He’s a bastard. But he’s not evil.” Potter looked over at Draco. “Probably.”

Draco ignored Potter’s inconsequential babble and continued, “I’m afraid I’ve no idea what happened to your _actual_ step-sisters — likely, they ceased to exist — but I’m still trying to get my head around that,” Granger fell back on the bed, “get up Hermione, you’re not allowed to sit.” Granger stood up.

After about thirty seconds, Granger opened her mouth to speak, “... tell me more.”

Draco grinned.

* * *

“Okay, so let me get this straight — the world that I’m living in is a mirror image of _your_ world,”

“Uh, no — we live in the future I think,” Potter said.

“Right, okay. So all the people in _my_ world, are the people in _your_ world?” Potter nodded. “Except some of the people in _your_ world possess magic?” Potter nodded. “Okay. So, _my_ world is a rendition of _your_ world?” Potter nodded. “Blimey, okay. And _my_ world is based off a fairytale from _your_ world?” Potter nodded. “And I’m the main heroine of the said fairytale?” Potter nodded. “And you’re both the abusive and ugly stepsisters.” Draco glared at Potter — Potter’s nod faltered.

“No, Granger,” by this point, Draco had explained to Granger the necessity of calling her Granger rather than Hermione, “I’m a beautiful step-sister. Obviously, some things are different from the fairytale.”

Granger’s mouth twitched, “right. So both of you are blood related in _your_ world, as well?”

Potter looked at Granger with a face of indescribable horror.

“No, Granger, you incorrigible buffoon, use your eyes.” Draco spat.

“Right.” Granger had the gall to smile. “And we’re friends in _your_ world?”

“We’re best friends, ‘Mione,” Potter smiled foolishly.

“And Draco? Are we friends?” Granger asked.

“No, you’re my stalker.”

“Right.”

“He’s fucking with you, Hermione. You’re _friends —_ Merlin knows why.”

“Why did you say the word ‘friends’ so weirdly.” 

“You used to hate each other,”

“Oh?”

Draco clenched his fist briefly, “I was a horrible child — more horrible than I am now, believe it or not — and I said, and did, several nasty things.”

“What happened?”

Draco smiled wryly. “You slapped me once when we were children, hexed the life out of me as an adult, and I decided, benevolently, to let you stalk me.”

Potter snorted, “he sent you a soppy letter of apology that made you cry, and you had a super long conversation that ended with both of you looking like right ghouls. Now you’re friends — Malfoy has a picture of you two on his desk.”

Draco refused to blush. “Potter’s pathetically in love with your boyfriend’s little sister.”

“Wha— _What the fuck, Malfoy?!”_

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s _not!_ We _broke up!_ And that was _uncalled for!”_

Draco turned to look at Granger — _look at him, denying his pathetic loser feelings._

Granger looked back at him understandingly. Ah, Granger.

“Malfoy’s in love with this new intern named Astoria!”

“Whatever Potter,”

“So you _do_ like her!”

Draco didn’t actually ‘like her’ in that specific way, but Potter was an idiot and it was fun to manipulate him.

“... So you’re not related?” Granger asked.

“No, ‘Mione, Merlin.” 

“Are you dating then?”

Draco threw up in his mouth. It took a considerable while for him to get his bearings back. Potter had paled comically next to him.

“Why would you think that, Granger. Why would you ever think that.”

“Well, you said you were partners—”

“At work, Granger — Merlin-fuck, never say anything so abhorrent ever again.”

“That was disgusting,” Potter said, and for once, Draco agreed. 

“Right. So, how are you two going to get back?”

Draco and Potter exchanged a look.

“Well, Hermione, we were kind of hoping you could help us with that…” 

* * *

_“Bibbity-Bobbity-Boo!”_ Potter said, twirling his wand and swishing his skirt.

Predictably, nothing happened.

“Potter.”

“What, Malfoy.”

“I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Hallelujah.”

“I’ve never met a fool more foolish than you.”

“I’ve never met an arsehole, arsier than you.”

“Arsier’s not a word, fool.”

Potter squinted at Draco’s dress. “Green makes your skin look drab.”

Draco gasped. “Fuck you, Potter.”

“Only in your dreams.”

“Don’t steal my comebacks!”

Granger looked over at the both of them, “how old are you two again?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Subtract twenty from that, if you want Potter’s mental age,”

“And add ten to _that,_ to get _Malfoy’s_ mental age,”

Draco scoffed, “Potter, you uncultured swine — the Granger in this reality doesn’t know what a Twelvie is,”

“So?”

 _“So,”_ Draco drawled, “your rebuttal is _ineffectual.”_

“Do you use big words on purpose because you think they make you sound smart?”

“I use big words on purpose because I _know_ they make me sound smart,”

A voice called from downstairs, _“Draco, Harry! It’s time to go to the ball!”_

Potter grimaced — as if he shamelessly believed, despite being the reason they were in this fucking mess, that he retained the right to grimace.

Draco huffed and began to rapidly transfigure the clothes and shoes in his wardrobe.

“Here, Granger — wear this and sneak out, once we’ve left,”

Granger looked up at him, “thank you, Draco — these are the loveliest clothes I’ve ever seen,”

Draco scowled at Granger and took back the bundle he’d given her. He transfigured the purple, cotton dress to a richer, burgundy silk, and the leather heels to delicate glass stilettos.

“Here.” Draco said, roughly.

“Draco, you absolute dear!” Granger cried, hugging the bundle to her chest.

“Oh shut up, you emotional sod.”

Potter gave Draco an incredulous look, “says _you.”_

“I will hurt you.”

“Ooh. I’m terrified.”

“You think you’re amusing, Potter.”

“I _know_ I’m amusing, Malfoy,” Potter smirked. _What a wanker._

“You’re not very honest, Draco,” Granger smiled.

“I’m perfectly honest — hey, Potter,”

“...What, Malfoy.”

“You’re ugly.”

“...”

“See? I’m the very epitome of honesty.”

Granger laughed. Although Draco would rather hug Potter again than admit this out loud, in that moment, seeing this strange, shuttered Granger laugh unreservedly — his shrivelled, black heart felt infinitesimally warmer.

And then Potter — also referred to as the Bane Of Draco’s Existence — opened his mouth, “Hey, Malfoy.”

Draco ignored him.

Potter — of course — continued, “whatever you say, whatever you are.”

* * *

Now, Draco was an intelligent man. Draco was a _very_ intelligent man. Throughout a majority of his Hogwarts education he’d come second to only Granger herself (excluding sixth and seventh year, in which his life was consumed by a fucking psychopath.)

He’d passed his auror exams with flying colours, and if it weren’t for that little black mark on his resumé (Prior Occupation: _Death Eater)_ he’d be on his way to the top of the auror hierarchy.

Yet despite all that, despite his obviously superior IQ, it had somehow slipped his mind that if Granger was Cinderella, in this horrible, twisted world, Weasel was the prince.

And so Draco stood, in abject horror, staring at the mass of red hair standing on the raised dais above the ballroom.

Weasel. Was. The. Prince.

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy.”

“Stop breathing forever, Potter.”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

“Weasel’s the Prince. I can be whatever I want.”

* * *

“May I request of this beautiful lady, a dance?” Asked someone whose name Draco had already forgotten.

Draco smiled politely. “Thank you, but I’ll have to refuse,”

The someone-or-the-other didn’t know how to take a hint, “not even a waltz?”

“I’m flattered, but I’m afraid not,”

The whatshisname laughed, “there’s no need to be shy, my dear lady,”

Draco wanted, dearly, to punch this man in the face. He wondered if this was what it was like for _all_ women. No wonder Pansy was so vicious. Draco vowed to buy her a new bag as soon as he made it back home — to a universe where life made sense, and Weasel wasn’t royalty. 

“I’m not being shy, my good sir. Let me humbly refuse you again,”

“What a lovely minx you are,” Whatshisface chuckled.

Draco nearly sneered. (His good breeding won out, but just barely.) It was obvious that this man was very unfortunately disillusioned with the belief that no woman could resist his charms. Draco wondered what he had to do to get this insufferable moron off his back.

“Perhaps my sister can interest you in a dance, instead?” Draco said, gesturing towards Potter (who stood next to the buffet table, stuffing his face).

Whadyoumacallit grinned, _“she_ was the one who recommended you to me in the first place!”

Draco froze.

“She said that you’d be shy,” Whateverhisnamewas said, coyly.

Draco wasn’t sure what irritated him more — the fact that Potter was going around recommending him to people, or the fact that this arrogant slug had very obviously approached _Potter_ (of all people!) before Draco.

Draco smiled with all the vitriol he possessed. “Sir, I have repeatedly refused your advances,” Whyishestillbotheringme flinched, “I’m afraid you’re deeply mistaken if you believe I’m refusing you because I’m shy. Rather, I’m refusing you because my mother instilled in me a deep appreciation for etiquette. If I was less well-mannered, I would have long ago done something very rude indeed,”

Whenwillheleavemealone flushed deeply and began to turn away, “ill-mannered hag,”

Draco laughed coldly and gave Thankmerlinhesleavingmealonenow a look which said, as clear as glass: _I could ruin your life, you worm._

MayIneverhavethemisfortuneofmeetinghimagain paled and hurried away.

Draco turned to a middle-aged man standing a few steps away from him, “excuse me, Sir? My name’s Draco Malfoy, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m here on behalf of my sister — she’s the tall, black-haired one at the buffet table — she was admiring your coat earlier—”

_Let the games begin, Potter._

* * *

“Hey, Potter—”

“Don’t speak to me.”

“Don’t interrupt me — why is Weasel not approaching Granger?”

“I don’t want to speak to you.”

“I don’t have time to celebrate right now — quickly, do something about Weasel,”

“Malfoy!”

“What?”

“You— _UGH!”_

“My, you’re feeling _particularly_ eloquent today,”

“How could you make all those old men think I wanted to marry them?!”

“I _didn’t_ make them think that,”

“Wha—”

“I made them think you wanted to _sleep_ with them,”

_“Malfoy!”_

“Did you _not_ want to sleep with them?” Draco asked, innocently.

**_“UGH!”_ **

“Don’t be boring, Potter.”

Potter ran his hands through his ~~fur~~ hair in frustration.

* * *

_“Do something, Potter!”_ Draco hissed, filled with fear that if Weasel never got his act together he’d be stuck in this godforsaken world forever.

“Give him time, you knob,”

“How much _time_ does he need?! Entire empires have fallen in less bloody time!”

“Oh shut up, Malfoy — it took you six months to talk to that cute mailman—”

“Stop bringing up the past!”

“Then stop being impatient.”

Draco shut his mouth and turned back towards Weasel. He was staring like a creep at Granger — who looked stunning, and was consequently garnering the attention of all the eligible bachelors in attendance — but had made no move to talk to her. Draco groaned. Weasel was such a bloody loser.

_“Potter — do something!”_

“Rearranging your command doesn’t make it any more effective.”

“He’s never going to talk to her at this rate!”

“He will, just wait,”

“The transfiguration ends at midnight!”

“No it doesn’t, shut up.”

Draco scowled.

* * *

**_“Finally,_** Weasel!”

Weasel had finally _(finally!)_ approached Granger. Granger blushed prettily (for someone so very intelligent, she had truly horrendous taste in men.)

They — Granger and Weasel — began to make their way to an isolated balcony. Potter smirked, and as such Draco assumed that this progress was something good rather than a point of concern. (Although if Draco was completely honest, he felt deeply uncomfortable with the creepy look Weasel had had on his Weasel-face prior to leading Granger to a socially isolated location.)

“Malfoy,”

“What?”

“I think that’s Lavender Brown,”

Draco snapped his head towards the unmistakable brunette who was making her way after Granger and Weasel.

Draco cursed lowly. “Follow me, Potter.”

“Ooh, Malfoy — a man of _action!”_

“I will tear your testicles off,”

“Ooh, Malfoy, you manly man of _action!”_

Draco scowled at Potter and began to make his way towards Brown.

“Excuse me, are you Miss Lavender Brown?” Draco asked, blocking her path.

Brown looked up at Draco, “yes, I am — and you are?”

“Draco Malfoy, it’s a pleasure to meet you,”

“Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you too — unfortunately, I’m in the middle of something important—”

“You have the _loveliest_ eyes, Miss Lavender,” said Potter, from Draco’s side.

(Draco rolled his eyes.)

Brown blushed (Draco rolled his eyes even harder — _Gryffindors.)_ “And who might you be?”

“Harry Potter — it’s lovely to be of acquaintance,” Potter grinned, looking a bit like he had to go wee.

“It’s lovely to be of acquaintance, Miss Harry — I daresay your eyes are lovely as well,”

“Nowhere near as lovely as yours, surely,”

Brown laughed shrilly.

(Draco thought _his_ eyes were lovelier than either Brown’s _or_ Potter’s.)

(Okay, fine, that wasn’t _completely_ true. Because the universe was an awful place, Potter was very unfairly in possession of nice eyes.)

Draco realised, belatedly, that Potter was trying to _flirt_ with Brown. He grimaced.

“Let’s make plans to meet at a later date, Miss Harry — currently, I’m in the middle of something very important—”

Draco bit back his laughter at seeing Potter’s awkward flirting fail. “Where to, Miss Brown?”

“Oh, just after Prince Ron,”

 _‘Prince Ron’. Merlin, Merlin above. Prince Ron._ Draco had to get out of this place.

“Wouldn’t you rather spend time with me?” Draco asked, smirking slightly, and putting as much charm as possible into his demeanour.

Brown stared at him open-mouthed for a while, “u—uh, s—sure, Mi—Miss Draco,”

Draco’s smirk widened.

“M—maybe at a l—later date, though — Prince Ron—”

Draco’s jaw dropped. Potter began to laugh into his fist.

Draco was sick and tired of this fucking reality. _“Stupefy!”_

Potter caught Brown in his arms as she fell forward, “awe Malfoy, did Lavender hurt your manly man feelings?”

Draco snarled at Potter and vowed to tear the wings of the faerie-bastard who had imprisoned them in this crazy, twisted world. 

* * *

“Potter!”

“What.”

“They’re kissing!”

“Okay.”

“Show some enthusiasm, you toad.”

Potter made a noncommittal noise. Granger and Weasel continued to kiss. And kiss. And kiss. _And kiss._

“Merlin, he’s trying to eat her face.”

“Yup.”

“Do something, Potter.”

“Like what? Break them apart? And consign us to this universe forever?”

“Merlin Potter, I didn’t know you had a brain,”

Potter rolled his eyes. Granger and Weasel’s weirdly disturbing open-mouthed kisses were increasing in intensity by the minute. Draco felt extremely uncomfortable. And then, Draco saw Weasel’s wandering hands.

“Potter!”

“Yes, Malfoy, they’re probably going to have sex on that balcony,”

“Weasel can’t do that!”

“Uh? He can?”

“He’s a prince!”

“He’s Ron, Malfoy.”

And Draco didn’t really have a response to that. 

* * *

“Fuck you, Potter.”

“Stop taking your frustration out on me.”

“Why is Weasel so filthy.”

Potter sighed. “Why are you so embittered.”

 _Two can play at that game._ “Why are you such a toad.”

“Why are you so pointy.”

“Why are you so stupid.”

“Why are you so awkward with your feelings.”

“Woah.”

“Too far?”

Draco sniffed.

“Sorry, Malfoy — why are you so stuck up.”

“Why are you so scared of commitment.”

“Woah.”

“Wow, you commitment-phobe.”

“Hey!”

“Apologising is for the weak.”

“ _'_ _Dear Potter, I would like to offer my sincere apologies for all I’ve ever do—’ ”_

“You _memorised_ my apology letter?!”

“I did, you weakling.”

Draco gave Potter a disdainful look. “I hate you, Potter.”

Potter laughed, “what an overreaction,”

Draco scowled. 

* * *

Granger attempted to sneak back home at five am the next morning. Little did she know that Draco was in her bedroom waiting for her, wand in hand and hour-long lecture on the tip of his tongue.

“OHMYGO— _Draco?!_ What are you doing here? And why are you waiting in the darkness??”

“Don’t question me young lady. Where were you last night.”

“Wh— That’s none of your business, I’m old enough to make my own decisions—”

_“Who taught you to sleep with a man on the first date.”_

“Oh my god, where’s Harry.”

_“You have severely, severely disappointed me Granger. You’re grounded.”_

“What? You can’t ground me.”

_“Don’t talk back to me.”_

“Have you been waiting in my room _all night?!_ Oh my god, you’ve gone crazy, where’s Harry—”

 _“You are_ **_grounded!”_ **

“Harry!”

* * *

“I think Draco’s lost his mind, Harry.”

“Nah, he’s always been barmy,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it — hey, Malfoy,”

“What, Potter.” Draco spat.

“Stop overreacting, you loser.”

“I’m not overreacting, you toad.”

Potter turned to Granger, “see? He’s fine.”

Draco scowled.

“I left my shoe at Prince Ron’s place, by the way,”

This news gave Draco unbridled joy, “Granger, you intelligent girl!” 

“Okay, maybe he's going a little crazy,”

* * *

It took Weasel two bloody weeks to get his shit together and find Granger.

The entire time, Draco lay festering in his room, planning the minutiae of the torture he would inflict on the faerie-bastard.

“Malfoy.”

“What.”

“Stop overreacting.”

“I’m not _overreacting.”_

“Yes, you are. This place isn’t that bad—”

“Man-pig told me to tell you that he’s taking you on a spa retreat tomorrow,”

“Oh my fucking god, this place is the fucking _worst—”_

“Stop _overreacting,_ Potter,”

* * *

“Why do I have to make her wear her shoe, again?” Weasel asked.

“Because you want you keep your testicles intact.” Draco said, calmly.

Weasel looked scandalised, “You do know that I’m a prince, right?”

“I could destroy you without moving a single inch of my body.”

Weasel turned towards Potter, “is he in his right mind.”

“Put the fucking shoe on her fucking foot, Ron.”

Weasel threw his hands in the air, “okay, fine, we’ll just ignore lèse-majesté, I guess,”

* * *

Draco opened his eyes abruptly. Robards’ face looked back at him.

“Robards!”

“Malfoy, are you alright—”

Draco grabbed Robards’ face and kissed him on the cheek.

“What the fuck, Malfoy.”

From somewhere to the side, Potter’s voice called out, “Robards!”

“Po—Potter? Uh, are you alr—”

Potter ran towards Robards, and threw himself at him, kissing him on the other cheek.

“What the _fuck_ had gotten _into you two—”_

Draco looked around — they were in the exact same place they'd been in before they’d been trapped in that hell. “Where’s the faerie?”

Potter swivelled his head to the side, “there!”

On a cage on the floor lay the faerie-bastard who was responsible for all that Draco had gone through.

_“Ah~ ‘Tis the young-uns, Didst thou enjoy thyself in the land of faerietayles~?”_

“Robards.”

“... Yes, Malfoy,”

“Close your eyes, I’m going to kill that bastard,”

“Wai— Malfoy!”

“Close your eyes, Robards — it’ll only take a minute,” Potter said.

“Potter! Wha— wait! Hey, _wait, I said —_ ** _hey! — Incarcerous!”_ **

* * *

“Stop squirming, Potter.” Draco snarled.

“I’ll stop squirming if you get your fucking elbow out of my face,” grit Potter.

“Oh, but it’s so much _fun_ shoving my elbow up your nose,”

“Stop being sarcastic,”

“I’m being serious.” 

“You are?”

“No, you fucking toad, I’m being sarcastic.”

Robards sighed heavily from the side. “You both disappeared for thirty seconds. _Thirty seconds.”_

Draco shot Robards a wounded look. “Unbind me Robards.”

“No.”

Draco inhaled a deep breath, and then let it out in one go. _“This is your fault, Potter!”_

“No, Malfoy — _this is your fault!”_

_“Fuck you, Potter!”_

_“Only in your nightmares, Malfoy!”_

_“You useless fuck, you got the order wrong!”_

_“Fuck you, Malfoy!”_

_“Only in my nightmares!”_

“Wait, I’m getting kind of confused—”

Robards pinched the bridge of his nose.


	4. Strip Show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes another one.
> 
> Here are some relevant definitions:
> 
> Lenio: (Fandom) Pain-relieving spell
> 
> Vulnera Sanentur: (Canon) Heals deep gashes (ie. from Sectumsempra :0 )

Draco walked stiffly into Astoria’s cubicle. He walked stiffly not because he was angry, but rather because doing so made it appear like he was angry. And _pretending_ that he was angry was a bona fide way of keeping people from talking to him. Over his eventful twenty-two years of life, Draco had perfected the art of avoiding unwelcome conversation.

It wasn’t that Draco _disliked_ a majority of the DMLE, it was just that Draco despised them.

(To elaborate briefly, ‘dislike’ suggests rather passive antipathy. ‘Despise,’ on the other hand, suggests complete and utter disdain.)

Was Draco being unnecessarily rude? Probably. Did a majority of the DMLE deserve Draco’s rudeness? Well, sometimes they did. In this particular instance though, not really.

So why was Draco avoiding them?

Because he could. (And one of the pillars of Wizarding Britain was the right to free will, damn it.) 

Also because Potter had been assigned a raid. While Draco, on the other hand, hadn’t.

Subsequently, as always, there was that bitter pill of not being as good as Saint Potter, The Patron Saint of Idiots. 

There was also, and more crucially, the fact that the decision most probably had something to do with Draco’s lovely black tattoo. (The whole skull-snake-death-eater shebang.)

Draco wasn’t angry, though. Well, okay, he _was_ angry, but it was anger at himself — a deep, visceral thing that never really went away. Despite everything, he was above externalising that anger on undeserving subjects. It was pathetically crass to do so, after all.

But avoiding people? That wasn’t crass at all. That was an ingenious manipulation of the delicate social spider-web of politics and human relationships. Draco was, much to his pride (and Potter’s occasional fear), quite a competent manipulator.

And so, Draco walked stiffly into Astoria’s cubicle.

“Greengrass.” He said, in greeting.

Astoria glanced up at him, “Greengrass, huh?”

“Mmm.”

(‘Greengrass’ was code for ‘I’m in a shite mood.’)

Astoria tapped her quill on the desk a few times, “Draco.”

Despite his unfavourable mood, Draco felt himself smile. “It’s nice to know you’re having a good day.”

Astoria grinned back. “Draco, Draco, Draco,”

“Stop rubbing it in my face.”

“Draaaaaaacccccoooooooooooooo,”

“Miss Astoria Greengrass.”

“Yes, Mister Draco Malfoy?”

“Keep it up, and I’ll accept your family’s marriage proposal.”

Astoria smirked. “And break Potter’s delicate heart?”

Draco shot Astoria a scathing look.

“Break Potty’s heart? How _could_ you!” A voice called from behind them. 

Draco turned to look at Pansy. “Get thee back to thy cave, demon.”

“And leave you the sole demon on earth? I think not, Draco-darling,” Pansy winked. 

Draco bit back his grin. “Why are you here, cow?”

“I had to get my daily dose of your disgustingly well-kept mug.” Pansy looked him up and down. “How many hours did you spend in the bathroom this morning?”

“Three.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “You’re letting yourself go, Draco.”

Astoria sighed, “ah, the beauty of friendship.”

Savage’s voice called out from behind Draco, “Wait, Parkinson? Parkinson — _is that you?!_ How’d you get past the wards?!?!”

Pansy turned back towards Savage, waggling her fingers. “Open Sesame.”

Savage looked at Draco. “Is everyone you know like this.”

Draco smiled politely in response.

* * *

It was while Draco was having tea with Pansy and Astoria that Potter’s Auror entourage came barreling in.

Maurice Undaniarl caught Draco’s eye and winked. Draco responded in a way which displayed his consequent feelings the best. That is to say, Draco responded with a cold, blank face. Undaniarl — or Undies, as Draco liked to call him — grinned in response.

“Wow.” Pansy said.

“I’ll buy you a necklace if you destroy him for me.” Draco whispered to her.

Pansy considered this. “I’ll think about it.”

“He’s been flirting with Draco for a year now,” Astoria chimed.

Draco made a face.

“I suppose it’s impossible to wear Undies while you’re on the Potty,” Pansy sighed.

“Don’t put me off my tea, you horrible cow.” Draco said, grimacing slightly.

Potter stood across the room, looking more foolish than usual. His leg…

Draco narrowed his eyes.

“I’m surprised none of you ended up in St. Mungo’s.” Draco said, evenly.

Undies grinned, “we made a bet — the first one to end up in Mungo’s has to give Robards a lap-dance.”

“What has Robards ever done to you.” Draco asked, genuinely horrified on behalf of his superior. 

Undies looked up at Draco from below his lashes, “if you want… you could always volunteer to take Robards’ lap-dance for him,”

“I would,” Draco began, smiling coldly at Undies, “but I’d really rather die.”

Undies laughed. Undies thought Draco was funny. This was fair, Draco _was_ funny.

That being said, as flattering as Undies’ little crush was, under his impenetrable smile Draco was largely uninterested and greatly uncomfortable.

“I’d imagine whoever it was that had to give you the lap-dance would share the same sentiment.” Potter said.

Draco looked at Potter cooly. Then, he opened his mouth, “hey, Undies—”

“I’d never rather die than give you a lap-dance.” Undies said, ever the loyal admirer. 

“Thank you, Undies.” Draco turned to Potter, “suck it, Potter.”

Potter, who was now holding himself even _more_ stiffly, shifted position slightly. “You know, Malfoy, I _would,_ but I’d really rather castrate myself.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow, “scared, Potter?”

As always, Potter flushed, “of sucking you? You wish.”

“Do you ever hear yourself speak? Of course I want you to be scared of sucking me — I don’t want you to suck me. You just said that you’re _not_ scared of sucking me.” Draco huffed a breath of laughter. “That was so embarrassing for you.”

Potter’s flush darkened.

“No need to be mortified, Potter.” Draco drawled. “If I were you, I'd want to suck me as well.”

Someone whose name Draco had never bothered to learn turned to Draco from Potter’s side, “as if Harry would ever do anything like that with a former death eater.”

Draco smiled acidly. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately” — _for you —_ “our little Potty here’s a kinky fiend.” 

Potter shifted position again, leaning more of his weight on the table.

“Tell them, Potter, about your distasteful fetishes,” Draco continued, following Potter’s minute movements with his eyes.

Potter grit his teeth, “nothing sexier than an arsehole.” He muttered. 

Astoria huffed a breath of laughter. Pansy snorted. ““Amen.”” They chorused.

Draco glanced at Potter’s tightly clenched fists.

“So, Potter.” Draco started.

“Malfoy.” Potter returned.

“How was the raid? Do you feel like a big boy now?”

“It was great. How was the office? Do you feel like any more of a sulking child now?”

Fury erupted in Draco’s mind. Outwardly, he smiled a smile the temperature of ice.

“The office was fantastic.” Draco glanced at Potter’s sweating brow, “it’s a shame—”

Potter’s clammy forehead wrinkled in confusion. Next to him, someone who Draco didn’t know bristled.

“—that you came back _unharmed.”_ Draco glanced surreptitiously (and by surreptitiously, he meant pointedly) at Potter’s leg.

The person next to Potter sneered, “scum like you never change—”

Potter narrowed his eyes at Draco. “I’m happy to disappoint you, Malfoy.”

The person next to Potter looked up at him with hero worship dripping out his nose. “There’s not a hair out of place, Harry.”

Draco snorted, “there’s not a hair _in_ place, Potter. But I suppose that’s normal for you.”

Potter moved his leg backwards and failed to hide a wince. “Yes. Completely normal and unharmed.”

Draco got up from his chair languidly, “what were the details of the bet, again?”

“Give Robards a five minute lap-dance.” Undies answered.

“Thank you Undies — did you all decide on what the loser has to wear when they give Robards the lap-dance?”

Adelaide Murton — Addy — smiled at Draco, “Muggle lingerie.”

Draco grinned wickedly. “I’m guessing that was your idea, Addy.”

Addy winked at Draco and grinned back.

“Nice to see you’ve still got it, Adelaide.” Pansy called, smirking.

Potter, who was growing paler by the second, frowned, “Parkinson? How’d you get past the wards—”

“What kind of lingerie did you choose?” Astoria asked.

“Lacey, black garter-belt.” Addy replied, stretching her stiff back.

Astoria beamed. “Nice, Addy.”

Draco looked at Potter, tamping down his glee. “So, Potter. It’s horrible to see that you’re _unharmed.”_

Potter glared back at Draco and gave him a look which said, in the most painfully obvious way, _shut the fuck up._

Draco walked forward, “is there a penalty for trying to hide the fact that you’re hurt?”

Potter — not-surprisingly along with three quarters of the group — flinched. Draco smiled sweetly.

Undies looked up at Draco, “we could add one, if you’d like.”

Several groans and ‘ _shut up Maurice_ ’s went up around the room.

“Well, it’s only fair — don’t you think, Undies? Addy?” Draco said, shrugging insouciantly. 

Undies nodded because Draco had wanted him to. Addy nodded because she’d also noticed the collective flinch that went up a few moments ago, and Addy was brilliant fun.

Behind Draco, Astoria and Pansy nodded because they sensed something interesting was about to happen.

“How about increasing the length of the lap-dance to fifteen minutes and adding a strip show before that?” Draco suggested, his face the picture of innocence.

Addy smiled sweetly back, “that’s perfect, Draco.”

Draco inclined his head demurely. By this point, he was standing next to Potter, who was eyeing him warily.

“Potter, your leg—” Draco began.

“Is incredibly toned! I know, Malfoy. Thanks.” Potter finished, grasping Draco’s forearm beneath the table and digging his nails in.

Draco smiled widely. “Sure, if your definition of toned is unnaturally skinny, your legs are incredibly toned.”

Potter looked at Draco for a moment. “You’ve got lettuce in your teeth.”

Draco refused to stop smiling. “You’ve got ugly on your face.”

Potter smirked, “you’ve got a face on your ugly.”

“Wow, Potter. Comeback of the year.”

“I agree, Malfoy. What can I say.”

“Why don’t you tell us more about the raid, and your leg—”

“THE RAID WAS VERY EVENTFUL!” Potter interrupted, his eyes wide. “Tell me more about the office — did you finish all the paperwork?”

Draco pinched Potter's side. “I did actually, because I’m competent. Unlike a certain someone whose name starts with a P and rhymes with Cotter.” Then, Draco pretended to ponder over something, “although I think I might have misspelt your name.”

Potter turned to Draco incredulously, “did you sign me off as Hairy Pooter again.”

“You know me so well, Hairy Pooter.” Draco beamed at Potter.

“Malfoy, what the fuck! It took me six months to change my name on the registry!”

Draco yawned lazily, “calm down Pooter, you’ll hurt yourself. More than you—”

 _“MORE THAN WOOoooRDDSSSSSS, IS ALL I EVEeER NEEDED YOU TO SHOOW. THEN YOU WOoOULDN’T HAVE TO SAaAYYYYY,”_ Potter paused, blushing, “...that you love me.” He finished, lamely.

Across the room, Pansy and Astoria smirked. Draco vowed to transfigure the sugar in their sugar containers into salt.

“I love that song.” Astoria said.

Potter looked at her, surprised, “I — er — me too.”

“Not all Slytherins are racist bigots, Potter.” Pansy rolled her eyes.

Potter had the good grace to look abashed, “no, of course not. I — uh, I apologise for offending you, Greengrass.”

Astoria smiled, “you can call me Astoria.”

Draco scowled. “You can call her Greengrass.”

Potter gave Draco an indecipherable look.

“Oh come on, Draco.” Astoria laughed.

“Shut up, Astoria. All men are wolves.” Draco snapped, glaring viciously at the few men who’d been looking, shamelessly, at Astoria’s bosom. 

Astoria rolled her eyes, shooting Draco a fondly exasperated look. Then, she turned to Potter, “the song actually reminds me of Draco — he pretends to be all—”

“Potter’s hurt his leg and he’s hiding it.” Draco said, loudly.

Potter’s nails drew blood on Draco’s forearm. _“Fuck you, Malfoy.”_ He whispered.

“Only in my nightmares, you toad.” Draco whispered back.

“Potter,” said Addy, gleefully.

“Malfoy’s lying.” Potter returned.

Draco turned a look on every person in the room — _look at him, trying and failing to lie._ Then, wordlessly, Draco snaked his arms around Potter’s waist and dragged him away from the table. Potter — who had been considerably weakened — attempted, futilely, to resist.

Once in plain view of everyone in the room, Draco turned to Potter, their faces only a few inches apart.

“You haven’t hurt yourself, shorty?”

Potter scowled. “It’s two fucking inches, arsehole. And yes, I haven’t hurt myself.”

Draco smiled and started to trail the hand he had on Potter’s waist down towards Potter’s leg. Potter’s eyes widened. From behind them, someone (and by someone, Draco meant Pansy Bitch-Face Parkinson) wolf-whistled. “Go fuck yourself, Pansy.” Draco said, his hand now lingering on Potter’s thigh. Ignoring Pansy’s laughter, Draco leaned closer to Potter. “You’re certain you haven’t hurt yourself?” Potter nodded, a challenge in his eyes. “Did everyone get that?” Draco asked. 

Sudden understanding shot across Potter’s face. He paled. Unfortunately for him, it was too late. After he’d heard the general affirmative from the crowd, Draco instantly squeezed the wound on Potter’s thigh. Potter clenched his jaw shut and closed his eyes. Draco continued to squeeze. Potter’s hands began to shake. Draco felt something wet and warm on his hand. He pursed his lips in irritation, squeezing Potter’s thigh as hard as he could. Potter groaned in pain, loudly.

Draco detached himself abruptly from Potter. _“Vulnera Sanentur.”_

Potter winced. “It’s a cursed wound. That won’t work.”

“You fucking idiot.” Draco snarled.

“Shut up.” Potter said, weakly.

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me to shut up _— Lenio —”_

“I told you _it’s fucking cursed, Malfoy, those won’t work.”_

Draco glared at Potter and punched him, hard, on the arm. Then, he turned to Addy. “Is there extra penalty for lying.”

Addy was trying to hide a laugh, “sure, Draco. How about I let you choose the music?”

Draco smiled maliciously. “Great.” Then he turned around the room and pointed his wand at everyone who was trying unsuccessfully to hide their wounds, “all of them hurt themselves.” Then, Draco began firing off spells, left, right and centre. “ _Episkey, Episkey —_ shit, Chang you fucking idiot — _Vulnera Sanentur —_ single file, all of you, towards the floo — _Episkey —_ Astoria, tell Robards that we’ve had to floo to Mungo’s — _Episkey, Episkey—”_

Potter’s Unnamed Fan #254 scoffed, “as if any of us would listen to a former _death-eater—”_

Draco turned a cold look on the fucking moron, “as a _former death-eater_ I know spells that would make you beg for a _Crucio.”_

(This wasn’t technically a lie. Draco did actually know of these spells. He’d just been too scared to learn any of them.)

Potter’s Fucking Moron Fan #254 flinched, “w—was that a thr—threat—”

Draco sneered. “Yes. Single file, **_now_ —** _Episkey—”_

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Robards began, rubbing his temples, “you made a bet which resulted in you voluntarily refusing medical treatment, which consequently almost resulted in irreparable damage which could have been permanently debilitating.”

The group of shame-faced Aurors nodded grimly.

Robards pursed his lips for a moment and continued. “And your bet involved giving me — _your boss —_ a lap-dance.”

The group of shame-faced Aurors glanced at each other in mild panic. It was just now occurring to them how incredibly stupid their actions had been. Draco exchanged a look with Astoria and swallowed a laugh. 

“And your bet involved you showing up to work — which is located in the _Ministry of Magic —_ wearing Muggle lingerie.”

There was complete and utter silence. Draco stared at the floor and willed back his laughter.

“Right.” Robards said. He turned to Draco, “were you involved in this.”

Draco shook his head, “all I did was choose the music.”

“Vivaldi’s four seasons.”

Draco nodded.

“Why, Malfoy.”

“I wanted to see the panic on their faces.” Draco answered.

Robards paused to think. “Okay, that’s acceptable.”

Draco shot Robards a grin.

“Greengrass.” Robards said.

“Yes, Head Auror Robards?”

“Send a message to everyone to meet me in the amphitheatre in ten minutes.”

“I’m on it, Head Auror Robards — _Expecto Patronum.”_ Astoria’s Patronus — a silvery kingfisher — escaped in a flutter of wings and translucent wisps.

“You lot. Get ready to perform a thirty minute group strip show in front of the entire department.”

Everyone — notably, Potter — paled considerably.

“Wait, Robards. It was a moment of stupidity—” Potter began.

“Your entire life has been a moment of stupidity.” Draco said.

Robards looked at the both of them. “Don’t make me force you to join in, Malfoy.”

Draco shut his mouth. Potter looked sorrowfully at the floor.

And that’s how the legend of the DMLE group strip show came to be. Draco recited it, dutifully, to everyone he knew up till the day he died.

* * *

“...And then, Potter’s shirt got stuck on his head—”

_“Malfoy! Stop telling Andromeda!”_

“Ignore him, Draco — continue,”

“As I was saying, Potter panicked, began tugging at the cloth and accidentally elbowed someone in the face.”

“Malfoy!”

“Yes, Potter?” 

“You’re such a fu—”

“Control yourself, heathen. Teddy’s right there.” Draco glared at Potter.

Potter shut his mouth. “You’re a big meanie, Draco.”

Draco looked at Potter in silence for a while. Then, he picked up Teddy in his arms. “That’s what happens when you don’t eat your vegetables, Teddy.” Draco said, pointing at Potter.

Teddy’s eyes widened, his turquoise hair turning black and messy. “Hawwy?”

Draco nodded solemnly, “Hairy Pooter, yes.”

Potter glared at Draco. “Don’t listen to him, bub, he’s just bitter because he’s old and pointy.”

“Poy— Poy-Tee? Dwaco?” Teddy frowned, his black fur melting into beautiful white-blond locks.

“Stranger Danger, Teddy — Stranger Danger!” Draco said, pointing at Potter.

Teddy smiled a gummy smile at Draco, “Silly Dwaco. That Hawwy Pooter.”

Draco grinned. “That’s true, silly me.”

Potter took Teddy’s hands in his. “Hey Teddy, what’s Draco?”

Teddy laughed, “Poy-Tee!”

“Exactly, Teddy. Good job”

Andromeda laughed in the background. “So what happened after that, Draco?”

Draco glared at Potter, and continued. “The garter-belt snapped—”

 _Fuck you,_ Potter mouthed.

“Fugh Yoo.” Teddy said.

Draco set Teddy down on Andromeda’s lap, covered his eyes with Andromeda’s hands and punched Potter in the face. 

The quietest fist-fight ever known to man commenced.

 _You stupid fucking idiot!_ Mouthed Draco.

_It was an accident!_

_Your existence was an accident!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song, if you didn't know it, was 'More Than Words' by the band Extreme.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this popped into my mind so here it is.
> 
> As everything I do in life, I have no idea where this was going.
> 
> BUT! But! If inspiration hits me (which it rarely does tbh) I might add more!
> 
> (^not that anyone cares looooooooool)


End file.
